


Family, friends and assorted others

by ayumie



Category: Ragnarok (TV 2020)
Genre: Character Study, Drabbles, Laurits is Loki, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayumie/pseuds/ayumie
Summary: Just a couple of short pieces (160 words each) on how Laurits sees the people in his life, assuming he's already 'woken' as Loki around midseason.
Relationships: hinted Laurits/Fjor, hinted Laurits/Magne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52
Collections: Ragna_rok





	Family, friends and assorted others

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely HotaruMuraki for being a wonderful beta-reader and bearing with my rants as I try to get a grip of this new fandom. You're as awesome a friend as anyone could ask for!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. I had a bit of trouble sorting out a few of the characters (particularly Gry, who in my mind remains oddly pale), so I'd be happy to hear what you think.

Mother

Laurits knew that Turid loved him as much as his brother – it just showed differently, because she didn't worry about him as much. Mostly he didn't mind, enjoying the freedom her continued preoccupation with Magne afforded him. Right now, standing in the shadow of the hallway, watching her dull her pain with junk food, he felt anger kindling in his chest. Anger at her. Anger for her. The irrational, childish belief that she, as their mother, should somehow know what was happening to her sons and protect them, warring with the knowledge that this aging woman with her ordinary worries about jobs and housing and education couldn't have helped even if she had wanted to. They would have to protect her. Turning on his heel, Laurits went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of the water Magne had bought. Turid smiled uncertainly when he brought her a glass of it. He could be kind, when he wanted to.

Isolde

Laurits hadn't known that Isolde would end up dead. He hadn't known anything about what was really happening, acting on sudden, gut-wrenching panic and the overpowering conviction that his brother shouldn't – couldn't – be on that mountain right now. Later, watching Fjor piss on her memorial, he had hung back and smiled the crooked smile that always seemed close to the surface since they had moved to Edda. Later – much later – when he realized that it had been Isolde as much as that meddling old hag at the supermarket who had set events into motion, he went to visit her grave. He didn't bring flowers. There seemed to be little point. He did squat down, though, and pressed his palm against the wet, sun-warmed earth, trying to get a sense of the girl who was resting here. There was nothing to be sensed. Isolde was lost and could not be reclaimed. He did not owe her anything.

Fjor

It hadn't taken a genius to figure out Fjor was the weak link among the tightly knit unit the Jutuls presented. For all his arrogant charm, he needed an audience to play to, the admiration of the little circle of acolytes he had gathered around himself. He was also undeniably handsome, which added a delicious thrill to the game. There was, after all, no reason Laurits couldn't have a little fun while he was trying to figure out what was going on in this town. What was going on with himself. The music the other boy played called to him, igniting something in his blood, wild and fierce and reckless it tugged at the edge of his consciousness. Even then the first signs of strain had been present in Fjor. Laurits had watched and waited, content to let events run their course. There hadn't been any point in getting involved. It looked like Fjor didn't need any help to self-destruct.

Saxa

Saxa Jutul was a girl made of ice – or at least so she seemed. Whatever storms or humans blew through her life, nothing stirred anything beyond the surface she presented to the world. Laurits couldn't find a chink in her armor, no weakness to chip away at. Even her outbursts in class seemed controlled, somehow driven more by annoyance than anger. Neither did she seem to be interested in any of the boys at school. For a while, Laurits thought that Fjor might be part of the reason, whatever those two really were to each other. He had decided it didn't really matter. After all, Saxa was not his primary concern. Then, watching her throw a spear from the shelter of the stands, Laurits understood. Saxa was a warrior, as fierce and proud as any of her kin. Being forced to bury all that beneath the empty pettiness of a schoolgirl – it'd be enough to freeze anyone's heart.

Ran

The principal was dangerous. She seemed to be everywhere, oozing sympathetic concern, whispering poison. It was all very proper, of course, very professional. It was utterly fucking devious and Laurits could almost admire her for it. With Vidar as the very public face of the company, the pollution charges didn't tarnish her. The rumors currently circulating might, however. Laurits was almost certain that the story about her fucking two of Fjor's classmates at the party was true. For one thing, those two idiots had spilled the beans after only minimal prodding and neither of them seemed creative enough to make up that kind of tale. It wasn't enough, though. Not enough at all, considering his mother would have to take Magne to see a psychiatrist next week. He wasn't worried about his brother for obvious reasons, but Turid was fragile. Somebody would have to take the bitch down a peg. She really had no idea who she was dealing with.

Vidar

Laurits wasn't quite sure what had happened between his mother and Vidar Jutul. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. The man was too slick, too powerful, too fucking obvious to be good news. The dinner party at Jutulheim – he had almost laughed out loud at that! - proved as much. Everything looked expensive, aggressively modern and just a little over the top. At least with all four Jutuls busy circling his brother, nobody paid him any attention. He couldn't really be blamed for peeking around a few corners. Into a few rooms. When he heard footsteps, he quickly let himself stagger a little, swaying drunkenly even as he pulled the door shut. The disappointment on Vidar's face was palpable. The wrong brother caught snooping. Vidar's smile didn't reach his eyes and, for a moment, Laurits sensed barely restrained violence in the man's body. He would leave that one to Magne. It ought to be right up his alley.

Gry

If he had known how much of a bore Gry really was, he would have let Magne sit next to her that first day in class. Laurits wouldn't have wasted a second thought on her, if it hadn't been for the fact that both Fjor and Magne had fallen in love with her. She was pretty. She was even kind. Kind enough to let Magne down gently, in spite of his blurting out his feelings in front of everyone. It was funny, really. Magne was the opposite of smooth. Her reaction to Fjor had been different, of course, all sidelong glances, shy smiles and just enough hesitation to keep him coming back. Eventually – as was to be expected – Gry surrendered to Fjor's charms. Prettily, Laurits supposed. Kindly. He didn't really care to ask either of them about it. At that point, he had other things to worry about, a plan to implement. In Laurits's book, kindness was overrated.

Brother 

Magne was Magne. And then he wasn't. Or rather, he was, but he was also much more than that. It was hard to put such things into words even for him. Laurits kept his mouth shut, watching, knowledge unfolding in his chest. Magne wasn't the only one who was changing. No, not changing. Growing. Thor haunted his dreams, disjointed images of shared laughter and adventures, of bitter hatred and black fountains of blood. Of other things that sent him hiding behind his earphones as he tried to reconcile those images with the boy who was now his brother. The confusion of it all made him lash out at Magne sometimes, belittling the truths he was trying to tell. Mostly he didn't regret it. A little mockery was the least of his brother's worries, if he continued to challenge the Jutuls. Laurits knew that he himself had choices to make. One of them wasn't really a choice, though. Magne was everything.


End file.
